Do Not Let Her Go Untouched

Image result for there is no path to happiness happiness is the path

Do Not Let Her Go Untouched

Interspersed and enmeshed within layers of pain
Disguised as fleeting moments of cheer
There exists random transitory happiness

Capture her when she shows her face
Do not let her go unnoticed while she’s there
Follow her through, for she is rare

Leave aside all other ceaseless tasks
Hold her with your two obliged hands
Focus and absorb, feel bliss and bless

Then just as she decides to take leave
Detachedly allow her to slip away
Don’t cry for her, do not come in her way

For you already knew this, didn’t you?
That she never intended to stay forever.
She never did, she never does.

See her off with a smile, save the memories
To keep you afloat through the days of despair
Happy thoughts of her, till she returns again.

Be brave. Have heart. She will. She does.

~ Alka ~

I wrote this poem spontaneously as I realized today is International Day of Happiness. Of course, happiness is not just a flower amidst thorns. For some, life is the other way around too.

Each one of us has our own cross to carry as well as our individual process of learning how to cope with it, by general acceptance of things as they are while still discovering happiness within what seems like mess or chaos, and by focusing on little moments of joy.

Please do feel free to share your views via comments. You can also share my posts on your social media.

On The Verge Of Breakdown…

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Nature: Ambience at every step

 

Nature’s Cry

Too benign in her ambient harmony she is
but like most other women, she is
overworked and underpaid

She takes it all with a smile
and continues to serve and oblige
bestow food, water, shelter, respite

She bears it quietly, but at times
retaliates, blows tornadoes
fumes volcanoes, warms up too much
goes bitterly cold; she goes on strike

But merciful mother nature that she is
she quickly forgives her spoilt children
hoping her wayward brats will learn
one day soon; hope not after it’s too late

© 2017 Alka.

♣~♣~♣~ ♣~♣~♣~♣

Nature…she is so calm and giving…provides free fresh air, food, water, and of course a feast of breathtaking beauty to everyone. But in return it is being taxed. Too exposed, vulnerable and defenseless in the hands of humans who are using it.

Industrial pollution has changed air composition and that of rivers.
Fossil fuel consumption, greenhouse gases are a reality.
Trees are being cut down via deforestation.
Genetic engineering and genetically modified crops are toxic for the wild life.
Ozone layer is getting depleted due to industrial gases. Global warming is looming large.
Resources are not just getting polluted but also depleted, while overpopulation means we are going to need more and more.

There are many more causes of natural and environmental breakdown…but what can we do? Can we change it?
Look around. We all can do our tiny bit, within our own community.

After all, looking after nature as also the women in your life, will  prove beneficial for the family…the world family of living beings as well as your own home.

That Golden Girl…

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That Golden Girl…

In a crystal clear pond full of ducks, there once lived a golden swan. The pond was called Paani, and Goldie was the name of the swan. The names were of course given by some human mind.

Born so different, Goldie was the only one of her kind. Envied by fellow females. Chased by fellow nasty males. Towards her, not many were kind.

Humans would take her pictures. But some would also pelt her with stones, to see how she reacted when in pain. But she never whined.

She avoided them all. She stayed to herself. But soon lonesome became her ride. Paying the price of being different, she could never find a mate. No family. No baby cygnets. No tribe.

One day she decided to paddle on to another pond, all in her desperate attempt to find another one of her kind. But there was none. Never was.

….

For the inmates of the new pond were no different. There were no golden ducks in the new pond, only those who were either black or white. They too could not bear Goldie’s deviance, golden and bright.

They isolated her. They accused her of stealing their share of food. For days she got nothing to eat. She felt like an alien. Like a fish out of her pond. Which of course she anyway was.

She left that pond too. Soon she lost her way. Thereafter no one ever saw her again.

The guys back at Paani, were full of remorse. For they had lost their golden girl, due to their own narrow mean mind.

They could clearly see now their Goldie was rather a class apart. She deserved to be Paani’s pride. She was the only one of her kind.

….

Long time has lapsed since Goldie has been gone. There are rumors around Paani, that every night a golden duck can be seen around.

Not seen by everyone though. Can be seen only by the fortunate few. In fact only by the unfortunate lonesome few. The wronged, the forbidden and the hidden, who dare to venture out only at night.

Seeing Goldie is indeed a sight! Quacking. Gliding. Paddling. All by herself. When the whole world sleeps, when no one would see her or judge her, she comes out from nowhere to have a good time.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Today, the above photo, that I must have seen while scrolling down the Reader, came into my mind from nowhere. The above weird tale built on…though I absolutely forgot where I had seen this picture.
Of course l discovered just in time, that it was #writephoto prompt by Sue Vincent and I could use it here. Thanks Sue for igniting this strange poetic-story!

Fly Like A Kite

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Matariki Kite Festival


Fly
Like A Kite

Fly aloft like a kite
Soar high and higher still
Ecstatic and bouncy with delight
Walk dreamily on clouds
Enthrall viewers on the ground

Probe uncertain realms
Be coaxed by gentle wind
To never give up half-way through

Find your strength, have faith
That your string is in reliable hands
Of that fond player, who made you fly
Who carefully tuned your first leap forth
Till you found your own balance

 Fly high like a kite
Just don’t fall like one
Onlookers can be very unforgiving

~~~~ 

© 2016-17 Alka Girdhar.

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Be A Winner, This NewYear

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Congratulations!!  You have been so amazing
You there! Yes you…you are a bona fide winner

You have made it till the end of one lifeshaping year
You’re all set and geared, for another bountiful year

You could glide smooth through this long dicey year
You bravely overcame all your big and small fears

Your going got tough, but how you evolved even tougher
You did not permit the icy turmoils to make you shiver

You faced lethal demons, that were so hard to beat
You never knew you had it in you, but see…you did

You understood life’s all about stealing joyful moments
You learnt to be grateful for the life’s very existence

You made some friends, but you sure lost some
You got some love, and you did lose some

You took mindful steps towards the betterment of self
You perpetually endeavored to achieve your best

You dived headlong, reached out to grasp a fuller life
You were resolved to work towards a blessed family life

You lost some, but then you did gain some
You made it through, aren’t you just awesome?

You can do it all again, all this and much more
You have it in you, and you always will forevermore

You’ll be blessed by God, in this brand new roller-coaster
You’ll emerge out stronger, year after year, year after year.

© 2016 Alka Girdhar

 

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Three Sisters – Blue Mountains Katoomba – timeless resilient mounts

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Wish you all lovely readers and dear followers of my blog, a very HAPPY NEW YEAR 2017!!

May your  new year be better than the one that you are leaving behind.
Did you have a great 2016, or not so good? Hang in there.

As you can still keep your hopes alive in 2017.

Babying Around

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Babying Around

Oh! If I were to be born again
To feel again the newness
Of being a brand new human

Cradle cap that never heals
Slippery skin that peels and peels
Changing color like a chameleon

Making bitter-sweet faces
Secretly smiling for no reason
And crying loud for every little

Looking around wide-eyed
In huge awe and wonder
At bright undefined hues

Amazed at all odd shapes
Jerking alert at rattle sounds
And at human voices

Sleeping the whole day
Waking the whole night
And keeping others awake

Lie on my back full day
Waiting to be picked up
And taken around

Convey hunger in loudest shrills
Making people run around
My family at my beck and call

Let everyone try to please me
While I amuse everyone around
By sucking my little foot thumb

Try to roll-over on my own
Fall from the bed crying
And get my mommy crying

Skin-to-skin with mommy
Looking at her angelic face
As she feeds me calmly

Cradling secure in dad’s arms
As and when he’s around
Till I grow too old for all this.

~Alka~

~~~ ~~~~

. Now I am too old for all this babying around and fancying doing cute stuff.

But we are still like a brand new baby on the day we are born, aren’t we?
And for me, that’s today…my birthday

Also a great day to be back to my blog…with my new baby poem

These Veterans of Motherhood

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These Veterans of Motherhood

Young moms are moms. Sure!
Are older moms moms too?
Seen it all. Been there. Done that.
Rotund tummy, birthing nerves, joy at the new-born
Ones, who once changed and washed far more nappies
And soothed their colicky babies
Have now left teethers and rattles behind
Disposed them, barring a few…for sweet memories.

Arriving in an alien land, landing double-shift jobs
No extended families ever, lonely media-less times.
Walked their toddlers to child-care, settled them in a kindy
Initiated their primary schooler’s A, B, Cs and Ds
Exhausted weekends at (selective-school) coaching centres
Helped their prodigies with high-school projects
Made secure their future, saw them soar high
Empty handed moms – from their nest the kids fly
Soft-hearted moms become hardened moms

Young moms, still learning about motherhood?
Older mommies, the walking encyclopaedias
Been there. Done that. Seen it all.
Kind of still young, but growing older
Preparing for another dose of mom-hood
Booster shot, of becoming a grand(er) mom.
Some already are content grand-moms
Older moms, not less of a mom, if not more.
Not exactly passé, definitely not past

©Alka Girdhar 2016

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While writing this poem I had in my mind women friends who once arrived here in Australia as newly weds, or pregnant with their first child, while some had a toddler or two.

Over the years I have seen many of them undergo most of the above experiences as busy mothers, and now some of them are getting their children settled in jobs or marriage, while other moms would probably join them sometime in the coming years.

Recently I joined a mothers club. Many if not most women there are young mothers discussing problems faced by very new moms. There still are too many motherhood problems in this easy era of social media, even when most of them have plenty of helping hands around, that older moms never had.

Hence, I felt a need to remember the evolving role of the older, or should I say more experienced, mothers as well. Because the joys as well as responsibilities that come with motherhood continue for the whole life..

Life or Muse, Hard to Choose

 

Losing one’s writing voice. Not that big a crisis this. But if something goes missing, we do wonder. Wonder about its whereabouts.

Where are you my writing muse!
Come back dear!!!
Come! Come here!!
Come hither!
Come hither!!
Come hither…hither hither hither
Don’t be scared. Sit near. Come!!!
Promise! I won’t bind you. Won’t tie you down to a lamp post.
You know. I never tried to tame you like a pet.
But then I did try once.
To call you as and when I desired, and not when you wished to come.
But no success. Could I ever set days or hours apart, for writing or publishing?
No. And this non-rhythm worked for me.
Never let crude strategy kill the true spirit.

“…as immediately I stopped disciplining the muse,” said F. Scott Fitzgerald, “she trotted obediently around and became an erratic mistress if not a steady wife.”

So! That’s what you always were. Untamed and free to come and go.
And that is the reason you always followed me around. Vibrant. Liberated. Uninhibited.
Sitting on my shoulder, whispering sweet nothings.
We two were happy. Till life occurred.

~~~

Yes, life occurs, and raises questions and doubts. To live life, or to listen to one’s writing voice. Life or Muse? Muse or Life? Sometimes life wins.

Till one day we again find ourselves using this very life, to embed it within our writing. Provided that by then our writing muse is not so annoyed that it refuses to come back.

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Bright Side of Things

“Hope is the pillar that holds up the world. Hope is the dream of a waking man”
~ Pliny the Elder

Early Bird

Happy bird sings
Caught a worm and golden sun
Hopes blossomed

©Alka

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Here’s some more:

Give It All
Flowers sing and die

Unheard, their beck and call
‘Give it all’

©Alka

     ~~~

“Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness.”
~~Desmond Tutu

Wishful Thinking

We always see the bright side
We’re keeping our hopes alive
That the day will never come
When birds stop singing
When flowers forget to bloom
As the earth burns down
As we bring on our doom

©Alka

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I wrote the above haiku and the short poem for two challenges.
Ronovan Writes Weekly Haiku Challenge 106 hosted by Ronovan Writes. The two words for this week were Flower & Sing.
Also for Writer’s Quote Wednesday Weekly Challenge hosted by Colleen of The Silver Threading. This week’s theme was: Hope

Hope you enjoyed my poems!

She Doesn’t Look Nice But…

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An abstract by Carl Holty you may not like

She Doesn’t Look Nice But…

She never looked too nice!
She looked like some art
And art wasn’t meant to look nice
It was supposed to make you think
and feel something, stir your heart…

She is my creation – my art
My words, writing, poetry
Authentic and true to heart
Why should she always be
Beautiful in your sense of world?
Why should she Continue reading